


Promises Kept

by Eressë (eresse21)



Series: Chance Met Trilogy [3]
Category: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-20
Updated: 2014-06-20
Packaged: 2018-02-04 20:52:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,827
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1792804
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eresse21/pseuds/Eress%C3%AB
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Unconventional behavior causes quite a stir in the highly conventional Woodland Realm. An ‘out-take’ from <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/1702133/chapters/3622790"><b><i>The Captain's Guerdon</i></b></a>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Promises Kept

**Author's Note:**

> _The characters belong to the wizard of storytelling himself, JRR Tolkien and/or his estate. No offense is intended or profit made in my use of them._

Eryn Lasgalen, _ethuil_ T.A. 3020  
Peace and relative quiet descended for the day on the Woodland Realm. It was a pleasant spring evening and the denizens of this forest kingdom were readying themselves for restful repose, stocking up on energy in anticipation of the morrow’s festivities. 

It was not surprising that a whole afternoon and evening had been set aside for the nuptial rites of the Elvenking’s youngest son for it would be the first binding in nigh seven hundred years of a member of the royal family.

Elrohir curiously regarded his fair-haired archer love from across the gaming table. 

He and Legolas had retired to the cozy chamber that served as the royal family’s private library cum recreation room for an after-dinner game of Strategy, an appropriately chaste occupation for two betrothed Elves on the eve of their binding—or at least as expected of two betrothed Elves in Eryn Lasgalen. But what should have been a brisk and challenging activity had turned into a protracted ordeal with long bouts of non-action or, at best, desultory maneuvers on the greenwood prince’s side of the equation.

After Legolas made three aborted moves before he finally settled on half-heartedly countering the threat from Elrohir’s black turret with his white wizard, the Elf-knight decided to bring the lackluster game to a close.

“Mayhap we should retire for the night, _meleth_ ”—love—he suggested, starting to rise from his seat. “You are too unfocused for gaming.”

Legolas quickly reached over to cover his hand and stay him. “Nay, I do not wish to sleep just yet,” he said. “If I seem unfocused, ‘tis only because of… well, what tomorrow portends for us.”

Elrohir studied him, wondering whether he should be amused or worried by his intended’s explanation.

“Are you having second thoughts?” he said only half teasingly.

The prince tried to smile, failed, then scowled. “Not second thoughts, Elrohir,” he protested. “Eru knows how much I long to finally have you for my very own. But fraught feelings I do harbor and they make matters worse for me.”

Elrohir lifted one sable eyebrow in surprise and concern. “You did not tell me that something troubled you,” he chided. “What ails you, Legolas?”

The archer glowered at him at first. But with a sudden change in his recently mercurial moods, he changed course and leaned back in his chair with a sigh. At length, his face cleared and he offered his bemused Elf-knight a scapegrace grin.

Elrohir gasped when he suddenly felt a slender bare foot plant itself directly on his crotch under concealment of the table. He stared at Legolas, uncertain about what his betrothed was up to. The prince’s intentions soon became clear when he lazily rubbed his foot over the fast hardening bulge beneath it. Elrohir groaned and briefly closed his eyes to calm his suddenly strident nerves. Opening them again, he stared at the grinning archer.

“Legolas, ‘tis unkind to tease me so,” he softly scolded.

“I am not teasing you, Elf-knight,” Legolas purred. “I expect you to return the gesture in whatever way you please.”

Elrohir sucked in his breath. He reached down to still the prince’s much too effective ministrations. Shaking his head, he pointed out, “Would you have me flout a tradition of your land? And now of all times on the very eve of our binding?”

Legolas’ smile grew positively wicked. He pressed his foot harder against Elrohir’s crotch, eliciting a hiss from the Peredhel prince. “A pox on tradition,” he declared. “I have never seen the merit in damning betrothed Elves to a six-month of chastity ere their binding. Only a want-wit or a cold-heart could possibly think it beneficial in the least!”

Elrohir firmly took hold of the archer’s foot and held it from his groin. “I cannot do this,” he protested. “Were we in Imladris, I would not care for it either. But I am a guest in your kingdom; in your father’s home. Much as I think some of them irrelevant or misguided, I must abide your laws and customs.”

Legolas stopped all motion. And then he abruptly pulled his foot away and stood up, almost knocking his chair over. He strode silently to the nearest window and stared out at the forest broodingly. Elrohir watched him for a while then rose and joined him. Coming up behind him, he slid his arms around the archer’s waist and pulled him back against his tall frame.

“I understand your displeasure,” he murmured against Legolas’ slender neck. “Think you I have enjoyed this constraint placed upon us?” He pressed a kiss against ivory flesh. “‘Tis only one more day to endure, Legolas. Imagine the delights we shall know when we couple with the binding channel fully open between us.”

Legolas trembled in his arms then stilled. For a moment, the twin thought the archer had acquiesced to maintaining the restraint demanded of them. But Legolas took him completely by surprise when he abruptly turned around and, cupping the Elf-knight’s face with his palms, sealed their mouths in an ardent, breath-stealing kiss not even one of Elrohir’s renowned discipline could fully resist.

“Legolas!” he gasped, managing to break away just long enough to protest. “We must not— your tradition—”

“Hang tradition!” Legolas growled. “If you do not take me now, I swear I will not be able to last through tomorrow’s rites! Would you have me shame myself before the entire kingdom when I fail to contain my need for you? For I will fail, I know I will!”

“But—!”

“I already know a fraction of what will flow between us come our binding night. The very thought of what the whole of it will be like—ah, the anticipation has been a torment to me! I know not how I managed to last through the winter with you so close at hand yet never close enough for my needs! Now, Elrohir, have me now! I cannot wait another day!”

Something snapped inside Elrohir with Legolas’ fervent pleas. Truth be told he had been just as frustrated by the edict and been barely holding himself in check. To know his woodland love so desperate for union with him that he would cast aside a custom he was duty-bound to uphold was electrifying. How could he possibly resist such a lure?

He yanked Legolas into a crushing embrace and all but soldered their lips together. The archer’s approving whimpers were enough to stoke his ardor into a conflagration that would have reduced the greenwood to ashes were it to manifest itself on the physical plane.

They somehow found their way to the nearby couch and all but collapsed on it, their mouths still clinging even as their hands undid shirt ties and unlaced breeches. Elrohir flopped Legolas on his back and, with little warning, dislodged the archer’s shaft from within the confines of his breeches and bent to ply tongue, lips and mouth on the rigid column. Legolas let out a strangled groan, his hips rearing upward to push more of his shaft into the moist warmth that enveloped it.

Elrohir, cognizant of his beloved’s near frenzied need, did not pleasure him at a leisurely pace but treated him to a swift assault that had Legolas spilling himself fulsomely in a much shorter time than was his wont. Himself now almost painfully aroused by the sweet bliss of draining his prince of his seed, Elrohir nonetheless slowed their pace and tenderly kissed his way up Legolas’ long body, pausing to pay prolonged attention to his chest and throat, confident that the prince’s wedding attire the following day would hide the marks of their indiscretion.

When their lips met once more, Legolas sweetly parted his in blatant invitation and they were soon engaged in another bout of scorching kisses and molten fondling. At last, Elrohir could contain himself no more and he broke away and sat back on the couch. Eyes nearly coal-black in his lust, he yanked open his breeches, revealing a shaft of such adamantine need that Legolas was left quite bereft of breath.

“Ride me, Greenleaf,” Elrohir told him roughly.

Legolas’ cheeks flamed at the lubricious command but he hastened to comply. With shaking hands, he shed his breeches, gasping when Elrohir pulled him astride his lap as soon as he was done. Yet, the Elf-knight did not summarily push him down upon his waiting length but took the time to kiss him nigh insensate while preparing him for breaching. Legolas moaned as he was steadily and sensuously readied, Elrohir’s fingers ensuring that he would not suffer too much discomfort from their first coupling since they parted the summer before.

And then he was being lowered onto unyielding seed-slick flesh and the stretch and burn fetched a slight wince from him before it gave way to moans and gasps and whimpers of sheer ecstasy. Elbereth, but he had missed this! 

As soon as he had fully adjusted to his Elf-knight’s formidable girth, Legolas began to move as he had been bid, riding the shaft that pierced him, reveling in each slide into him and the ensuing fullness that completed him.

Elrohir gazed at him, utterly enraptured. Clad in naught but his shirt which hung open and hid nothing of his charms from the twin’s eyes, his shining hair tumbling about his shoulders, golden tendrils clinging to his neck, Legolas was a delectable sight indeed. Elrohir thought nothing in Arda could possibly compare to his beloved’s beauty when he was in love and lust’s savage thrall. 

He curled his fist around the proud shaft that rose between them and stroked it with every sheathing of his own length by Legolas’ heated, silk-soft core.

For several minutes, all that could be heard in the chamber was the symphony of their ragged gasps and drawn out moans. Not yet sealed by the mingling of their blood but already pledged far more potently than the norm by the vows they made to each other during the War, they’d already experienced something of the shared pleasure that was unique to wedded Elves; a tempting glimmer of the blinding radiance of the binding rapture. They looked forward to knowing the full measure of it but that they did not yet know it did not in any way diminish the joy they always felt each time their bodies came together in utmost intimacy.

Release came upon them almost simultaneously. The clenching of moist velvet flesh around the smooth taut column it gloved heightened their bliss. Pearlescent cream dappled their chests and bellies while liquid warmth spilled from one to fill the other, completing their union. 

Sobbing against Elrohir’s mouth in utter bliss, Legolas curled his arms tightly around the Elf-knight’s shoulders and clung to him, as much needful of their emotional connection as his body had been in need of physical gratification. He sighed with contentment as he felt the twin’s answering embrace and a gentle hand smoothed his tousled locks.

A duo of gasps and the crash of dinnerware and metal snapped them out of their pleasurable haze. They jerked their eyes to the door where a maidservant and a footman stood frozen in place, eyes wide in shock and embarrassment. About their feet were two silver trays, two newly dented drinking cups and a cracked pitcher, shattered serving plates, various scattered pastries and pieces of fruit and a spreading pool of what appeared to be honey mead. 

A moment later, the two servants broke into incoherent apologies, bent and haphazardly shoved the mess on the floor onto the trays, stood up and collided with each other in their haste to leave the chamber and finally managed to exit only to crash into someone else outside. From the sound of muffled oaths and a testy growl, Legolas realized just whom the hapless servants had had the misfortune to run into. And from the blubbered explanations he and Elrohir could hear, that someone and whoever was with him would soon enter the room.

He leaped to his feet and hurriedly snatched up his breeches, signing to Elrohir to get into as decent a state as possible. Hardly had Elrohir managed to lace his trousers when the door opened again and in swept an understandably incredulous Thranduil followed by his chief advisor, the eldest each of Legolas’ four brothers and three sisters, and, reluctantly taking up the rear, Rivendell’s valorous captain, Glorfindel.

Legolas sighed in irritation. Had it only been Glorfindel with his father, he was quite certain he could head off Thranduil’s umbrage. The Elvenking doted on his youngest child after all. But with his sanctimonious brother, prudish sister and the king’s overly zealous counsellor present, there was no way to temper Thranduil’s indignation enough to get him to listen first and berate them later.

The Elvenking glared at them, his eyes swiftly perusing their disheveled appearances. There could be no pretending that only the most innocent of activities had just taken place despite the servants’ blundering attempts at sanitizing what they had seen.

“The council chamber, both of you. Now!” he ordered in a tone that brooked no protest.

* * * *

The council chamber resounded with rancorous charges and righteous diatribes as various royal children, assorted counsellors and one irate king gave voice to their displeasure over the breaking of one of their most sacrosanct traditions.

Called in unexpectedly to hear the complaints against one of their own, Elrond and Elladan managed to maintain their diplomacy though Elrond was seen to dart exasperated glances at his younger son and the woodland prince. Glorfindel prudently kept silent and, surprisingly, so did the normally vocal Elf-knight.

Elrohir let his silvery gaze roam, wondering all the while if he would have to spirit Legolas out of the greenwood and elope with him. His eyes fell on the two servants who had unwittingly let the proverbial cat out of the bag and he saw them flinch before his stare. 

Taking pity on them, he softened his stern expression with a small smile. After all, they had already endured a lengthy inquiry wherein they’d had to give a detailed and highly embarrassing account of what they’d witnessed. Elrond had intervened at one point when an attempt by one of the advisors to persuade them to accuse Elrohir of perpetrating the deed became all too apparent. 

Abashed at being rebuked however mildly by Rivendell’s Lord, the counsellor had backed down. Nonetheless, the obvious effort to discredit Elrohir left a bitter taste in his and his family’s mouths.

The Elf-knight was not at all surprised by the underhanded attack. Though he had won the hearts of the common folk, the same could not be said of all the bluebloods and ranking citizens of the forest kingdom. Great had been the consternation of a goodly number of these Elves when they had learned of Legolas’ betrothal to Elrond’s son. 

Elrohir knew that there were many who had set their sights on Thranduil’s last-born either for themselves or for their children for Legolas was the comeliest and sweetest natured of the king’s children by far. It was not inconceivable that some of them might pounce on a chance to derail or delay his binding. And politics being what it was even amongst the Firstborn, even Thranduil’s older children had good reason to be disappointed by their youngest brother’s sudden pledging to one not of the greenwood. They would have preferred to see him wed to an Elf beholden to them rather than a scion of a house of higher lineage than theirs.

It was about then, when Thranduil’s third son—or was it his fourth?—began to dredge up hoary tales that cast the Peredhil in an unfavorable light that Legolas stepped in. Or rather shouted him down.

Elrohir listened with some awe as his beloved proceeded to shred to bits each and every Elf who had dared to disparage his intended, even his siblings. He did not doubt that the archer would have taken on his own sire had Thranduil assailed Elrohir as the others had done. 

Where was his gentle, soft-spoken Greenleaf, he thought with amazement. A furtive look at Elladan told him his twin was also thinking along the same lines though with approval rather than wonder.

Legolas harangued them all, uncaring of the disreputable picture he presented. His shirt hung open halfway, revealing the telltale marks of Elrohir’s ardor. And his breech-laces were noticeably loose such that the waist of his trousers rode a little lower than was proper. And of course there had been no time to properly plait his hair and so the fair tresses hung in golden confusion about his shoulders and down his back. Elrohir entertained the passing thought that his prince could be clad in rags and still easily rouse his baser instincts.

Thranduil at last spoke up when his youngest bestowed an expletive upon his second eldest with such scathing intensity it nigh threatened to curl everyone’s ear tips.

“I believe you have made your point quite clear, Legolas,” he said. “There is no need to call your brother the by-blow of a heathen goblin unless you are suggesting your mother cuckolded me with an orc!”

“I suggest no such thing!” Legolas retorted. “I say ‘tis impossible to believe you and _Naneth_ could have possibly produced a bone-head such as he. More likely you found him in some goblin-den amongst their droppings, took pity on him and passed him off as one of your own!”

As he spoke, said brother turned red as a berry and looked fit to have conniptions. If Elves could have conniptions.

“Brother or not I will have your head, insolent Warg-pup!” he snarled.

But the king quickly intervened before matters got any worse than they were already.

“Enough!” he roared. “I will not have you achieve what Sauron could not!” He glared at all his children. “I will not have a rift in this family and over one who is not even a part of it.”

Legolas bristled. “Yet you _will_ have it if you persist in speaking of Elrohir with such discourtesy. He will be as much your son as I, _Ada_ ”—Papa—he said. “And in my eyes, he already is.”

Thranduil’s eyes flashed warningly. “You would put him first even before your own flesh and blood?”

“Aye, I would. He is my heart and soul. My reason for being!” Legolas tossed his golden mane back defiantly.

“How can you defend one who holds so little respect for our customs?” the second of Thranduil’s daughters asked. “And dared to corrupt you to feed his need?”

“ _Corrupt me_?" Legolas repeated incredulously. “Elrohir did not instigate our rutting, _I_ did!” Met with disbelief, he scowled and declared: “‘Twas he who tried to desist and I who belittled the tradition. One which I happen to consider absurd and with no redeeming logic whatsoever to support its existence!”

At once his siblings and a few of the counsellors protested his statement but, to Elrond’s amusement, Thranduil did not censure him. Indeed, the suspicion of a smile seemed to hover on the king’s lips. Glacial blue met curious grey. A moment later, Elrond was fighting to stifle a grin of his own.

Meanwhile, Legolas had managed to verbally bludgeon the naysayers into submission. And now he moved in for the figurative kill.

“The rites will take place tomorrow eve as planned,” he growled at his siblings. “Otherwise, I will leave this realm and bind to Elrohir in Imladris with or without the dubious honor of your presence. And may Rhûn’s benighted hordes take you all if any of you dare hinder us!”

Silence fell and reigned for the next several minutes at this startling pronouncement. And then a most unexpected sound broke it. The combatants turned to stare at Thranduil in astonishment. The king was laughing! And was that a chuckle that had just escaped Elrond?

“Peace, my son,” Thranduil managed to say in between gusts of mirth. “You will have your Elf-knight to espouse tomorrow night. None will stand in your way. Indeed, I fear for the fool who would dare. ‘Tis verily asking to be skinned, skewered and roasted alive!”

* * * *

Torches and candles burned brightly in the great glen behind the cavernous palace of the woodland king. Fair voices rose in song to the strains of gittern, harp and flute. Long boards groaned beneath the weight of the bounty of forest, river and trade with the men of Dale and the Long Lake. In the middle of the glen, all eyes were on the two who would now be one.

Woodland prince and Peredhel lord were breathtaking to behold. They were both attired in pristine white knee-length tunics over thin shirts and pale grey hose and shoes. Jewelled belts encircled their waists and mithril circlets crowned their heads. Over their shoulders were ceremonial mantles embroidered in silver and gold purl. Legolas’ cloak depicted the beeches and wildflowers of Eryn Lasgalen while Elrohir had chosen the image of Minas Tirith, City of the Kings in faraway Gondor to adorn his. A way of including his absent sister and king-brother in this significant event.

They spoke their vows before kin and kingdom, promising eternal devotion and fidelity to each other, finally sealing their oaths with the mingling of their blood.

Legolas caught his breath as he felt the oneness flow between them even as their blood flowed between their slashed palms. What they had once felt simmering just below the surface now boiled over and suffused them with the ecstasy unique to bound Elves. He raised elated eyes to Elrohir—now _his_ Elrohir for all the ages of the world and beyond. He was startled, then humbled to see the fierce Elf-warrior shed silent tears as they both felt their elven flames flare in sacred union.

He joyfully went into Elrohir’s arms and nestled his cheek in the twin’s warm palm. “My one, my love, my Legolas,” Elrohir whispered, their lips just touching, before drawing the prince into the first kiss of their espousal.

The kiss was restrained. Barely. None could deny the passion threatening to explode between them, not even the most obtuse amongst them. Or miss the reluctance with which they parted ere turning to receive greetings and well wishes from family and friends alike.

An hour or so and many songs and dances later, the Elves moved to the sides to allow a group of dancers to form a ring in the center. Within the ring, Legolas and Elrohir faced each other as they led the rest in a traditional Silvan wedding dance.

Legolas smiled with pride as Elrohir flawlessly executed each step. They had practiced the dance all winter, aware that the woodland folk would have high expectations of the Eldarin prince who would join the ranks of their royal family. 

But being Elrohir, the younger twin was cheeky enough to add a few extra flourishes. Legolas blushed when he pulled him closer than was proper during one particular turn; gasped when the warrior brushed his fingers dangerously near to his groin during a pass and bit back a moan when the Elf-knight pressed against him with more pressure than was necessary as they ended a sequence. 

What was supposed to be a celebratory dance turned into a graceful but all too public seduction. And none could protest or interfere now that they were bound and entitled to such intimacies.

By the time the dance ended, Legolas had lost all interest in the festivities.

He spent a moment by himself beneath a slender tree, attempting to cool his flaming cheeks with a hefty swig of rich Dorwinion wine that had been cooled in the icy waters of the forest river. From across the glen, Elladan caught his gaze and, with a knowing smirk, winked at him. The prince promptly blushed even rosier than before.

“Are you unwell, _ernilen_?”—my prince. Legolas stifled a needy whimper as the husky murmur sent tendrils of sheer pleasure snaking up and down his spine. “I have never seen you so flushed before. Except when I am well up your backside, of course.”

Legolas groaned and turned to face his new mate. “Fie on you, Elrohir!” he admonished. “You are wicked to tease me so and in the presence of all my folk!”

“Is it the teasing you object to or merely that there are others present?” Elrohir grinned. “For I seem to recall how well you act the wanton when we are by ourselves. Or was last night but an aberration?”

“Nay, ‘twas no aberration,” Legolas demurred, suddenly serious. “Elbereth preserve me but you can reduce me to stark wanting with little more than a look. ‘Tis an injustice that Eru should have endowed you so fulsomely with such lethal charm.”

Elrohir’s eyes softened and his smile turned tender and doting. “And you can unman me with your very smile, my Greenleaf. Or have you not realized that yet?” The wicked gleam in his eyes returning, he added, “How much longer until we may retire for the night?”

The archer thought his heart would stop at the mere idea of what Elrohir’s query portended. He swallowed hard then said with spurious cool and calm: “We can leave any time we wish. Why do you ask?”

Elrohir leaned close, his lips brushing the prince’s suddenly rosy ear. “Because I have a mind to ride you this eve as hardily as you rode me last night, _bereth_ ”—spouse—he murmured salaciously. “That is, if you are up to it.”

Legolas caught his breath. Eyes flashing with sapphire flame, he grabbed his spouse by the hand and without so much as a by-your-leave to kith and kin, hauled him away to their bedchamber.

As they departed, he growled, “I am more than up to it, my Elf-knight. The question is, how much of it can you take?”

* * * *

Many hours later, they lay in utmost satisfaction amidst tangled sheets, uncaring of the disarray of their conjugal bed. Legolas sighed happily, nuzzling his face against Elrohir’s throat. They were both delightfully exhausted in the wake of the binding rapture that had ensorcelled them each time they coupled.

Elrohir smiled at the felicitous sound. “Are you content?” he softly asked, raking his fingers through the silky strands of Legolas’ hair.

“Mmm, blissful is nearer the mark,” Legolas drawled, lifting his head to gaze at him. “Though I will admit to feeling deliciously sore. As I hope you are as well!”

Elrohir chuckled. “I could hardly have avoided it with you pounding so enthusiastically into me.”

Legolas had the grace to blush. “If I was over eager ‘twas because I was so elated to know you mine alone in that matter. Forgive me, Elrohir, I neglected to take care with you as you did with me.”

Elrohir shook his head smilingly. “Do not apologize for pleasuring me so well, my heart,” he said. “I knew there had to be a reason for my refusal to yield to any afore this night. But I did not foresee it would have golden hair, eyes the color of sapphire and a countenance and form comely enough to tempt the Powers themselves.”

The archer’s blush deepened and he buried his face in the twin’s neck. “You over extol my meager graces,” he mumbled with renewed diffidence.

“Meager?” Elrohir repeated, incredulity limning the word. “Have I not convinced you yet of your incomparable beauty?” He rolled Legolas onto his back and blanketed him with his body. He regarded the prince with such intense lust that it set Legolas ashivering.

“Must I ride you senseless inside and out until you believe?” he murmured, nipping the delicate tip of a rosy ear.

Legolas groaned. Lifting his legs to wrap them around the twin’s waist, he pleaded, “Ride me senseless in whatever manner pleases you for so long as you wish. I cannot get enough of you, Elrohir!”

“I would say the same of you, Legolas,” Elrohir replied. “You are exquisite beyond compare and I will have you believing it before this night is done.”

Legolas bit back a cry as he was speared anew. The lingering ache swiftly gave way to sharp pleasure as Elrohir repeatedly slid into him.

“You called me your heart and soul; your reason for being,” the warrior whispered, plunging harder and deeper into his writhing mate with every lunge of his hips. “Yet ‘tis I who feels blessed for having won your love. I will be eternally grateful that you chose me for your own.”

The chamber resonated with the sounds of their union. And as he basked in Elrohir’s inimitable loving, Legolas thought back with wonder and gratitude to the serendipitous chain of events that led him one autumn day down the road to Imladris and into the arms of his forever mate. His one and only Elf-knight.

*****************************  
Glossary:  
ethuil – Sindarin for spring  
Peredhel – Half-elf/Half-elven  
by-blow – bastard _(archaic)_  
naneth - mother

The End

**Author's Note:**

> That's it! I hope you all liked this last tale from _The Captain's Guerdon_ universe.


End file.
